


Voyage

by starknight



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Immigration Ship, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Best Friends, Boats and Ships, Friends to Lovers, Kidlock, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Stuck on a boat together for 120 days, Teenlock, Victorian Medicine, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, Victorian science!, Voyage to NZ, What will happen ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9459572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknight/pseuds/starknight
Summary: The Watsons are looking for a new life, to escape the confines of Victorian Britain. The Holmes' are looking for an opportunity. When John Watson and Sherlock Holmes meet, even the strictest of class boundaries couldn't keep them apart. Instant friends, they now have 120 days together on the John Wickliffe ship. If you're looking for cute gay teenage romance, a period fic, or a slow burn Johnlock, then look no further.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever attempted long fic! I will try try try to update regularly, weekly, let me know if there's any issues with the accuracy of the period (yes, I am from NZ which is of course why I did this particular journey) or the grammar, and leave a comment if you like it... I was inspired to try writing a period fic by Chryse's work, 'The Frost is All Over'. It's a wonderful read, I highly recommend it!! If you're reading this, thanks for bothering to click on the link, and I hope you enjoy.

The boat was truly beautiful. Sherlock Holmes was not sentimental, but this, this was science at its best. It rose like a cliff above all the expectant, waiting passengers, the sides gleaming, a sticky, tangy, artificial smell of resin reaching Sherlock’s nose. His eyes, usually so attentive and alert to deductions, were transfixed by the glory of the _John Wickliffe_ , the ship that would take them to the other side of the world. Sherlock was not so very sorry to be leaving England. As far as he could tell, most of it had already been discovered and deduced by centuries of people before him. He needed a challenge, and New Zealand was going to be a challenge. Perhaps on the voyage, he could help the crew! A mental image of himself in mucky old dungarees and weather-worn shirt flew into his mind. Mycroft could say what he liked about the importance of countries and politics and whatever else he’d learnt at Eton! Sherlock wanted to be a pirate, and a pirate he would be. His mind was all a-jumble with fantasies; being the special lookout in the crow’s nest and sighting land first; perhaps they would drift off course and find a whole new land! After all, New Zealand was hardly a marvelous new continent like they’d hoped. And since Sherlock would see it first, he would get to name it. _Imagine Mycroft’s face!,_ he dreamed to himself. He was so caught up that he hardly noticed the crowd beginning to swarm onto the deck of the boat. He suddenly found that his vow to become the first civilian on deck was quashed, and he had to file on behind the rest of them like a perfectly normal and dull person. The ship swayed uncertainly as he stepped aboard, and Sherlock grinned. This was going to be fun! Surely Mycroft would fall over many times before they reached the promised land. ‘Master Holmes, shall I take your case?’ offered the footman Gregory. He didn’t look quite so enthused about the whole business of the ship, but Sherlock promptly thrust his heavy case at him nonetheless. He was stupid, as well as lower class. While Sherlock disagreed with Mycroft on most things, he did accept that this made Gregory inferior, and not worth his time. As soon as he was disburdened, he scampered away as fast as he could, through the milling throngs on board, to inspect the deck of the ship.

 

\---

 

John Watson sighed and pushed his lanky hair out of his eyes. Mother was busy nursing baby Sybill below deck already, and Harriet had already disappeared from his supposedly iron grasp. Martha, Elijah, and Maxwell were strung out behind John’s father, trotting obediently and looking around somewhat confused and scared. John knew how they felt. The ship was an ominous thing, much grander than any of them could be used to, yet one couldn’t help but think of the vastness of the seven seas… He shivered. It was no use worrying; they could well have died in the slums of London, so it was worth the risk to move to a whole new country. Open spaces! Clean air! A whole country to themselves. John could scarcely wait, save the perilous and no doubt stomach-churning voyage. He sighed and condemned himself to search for Harriet. She was a rascal like no other. He pushed through the many people, calling for her, when a tall, gangly, aristocratic teenage boy tripped over him. _Oh, drat_ , thought John. _Two minutes and I’ve already got myself into trouble with an upper class twit_. A curly mop of dark hair bounced up beside him, and John braced himself for the insult that would follow. But the boy with excited, sparkling eyes – _like the sea –_ grabbed him by the hand and declared ‘I’m going to climb the mizzenmast. Come if convenient. No, never mind, come anyway!’ and John found himself being forcedly dragged to the mizzenmast. He reasoned that he could see Harriet much more easily from the top as it was, quite aside from the fact that he had no choice in his current trajectory. However, once up the mast he forgot all about his younger sister, and instead focused on all his surroundings. He and the upper class boy clung to the mast and each other for a better hold, gaping like fish at the view. On one side, grey and choked London rose. On the other, a blue-green adventure waiting to be sailed upon. And below, throngs of people made their way onto the boat. “Oi, you two! Get down! You’ve got to make it out of port before we start getting broken legs…” grumbled an angry sailor from below. John exchanged an annoyed glance with the dark haired lad beside him before ungracefully slithering down the mast. Once on the ground the sailor motioned to them to make scarce which they gladly did. “I have to find my sister, Harry – I mean Harriet – but it was very good to meet you, um, uh…?” John stuttered.

“Sherlock Holmes. And the address is, well… not Kensington any more, I suppose, but here. I suppose I shall see you around? Perhaps we can scale the mast at midnight and they wouldn’t see us!” His eyes glinted excitedly. _Sherlock… What a fancy, stuck-up, and, well, beautiful name…_ John nodded eagerly. Just then a small flying lump of sister hit him square in the stomach and he staggered, winded. “Harry!! Where have you been? I don’t bloody believe you, running off on our first minute on board… You’re to stay with me now, you hear me?” John swatted her shoulder somewhat affectionately. He remembered Sherlock’s presence suddenly and turned back to find a piercing, puzzled gaze meeting his. He cocked his head slightly. Sherlock’s eyes continued their search, now raking up and down his body. John flushed slightly, not quite sure what the point of this – this _examination_ was. Sherlock began talking with no warning and as if he had already been blazing words at 100 miles a minute. “Pretty common, middle working class, making a new start in a new country and hoping it’ll be better than London – obvious really. On the other hand, you seem to have a strong sense of loyalty and honour… as well as taking for granted society’s strict moral code. I doubt you’d allow your mother the vote, things just don’t work like that for you, do they? Things ought to be right and proper. Perhaps your father, with his military background, trained that into you. Oh, I see…”

“How could you possibly know all that…” John murmured in awe. He was right, on all counts; he trusted the word of his father and the law above all things, without a question.

“Elementary, my dear… um… commoner. I can’t deduce your actual name, sorry, what is it?”

“John. John Watson.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.”

And with that, Sherlock swept away, leaving John, staring like the village idiot after.

 

\---

 

Sherlock grinned to himself as he pushed his way through the crowd to Mycroft’s fat head. A friend! And John Watson wasn’t even too boring. It had been hard to leave behind Victor, especially with _her_ , but he was sure John would oblige to his often and needy requests for adventures. However, there was still –

“Brother mine, I see you have made a friend already! Let us hope for his sake that he falls overboard to spare him from your dreaded company,” drawled Mycroft. His dastardly brother.

“With that rotund physique, _brother mine_ , I’m surprised you haven’t rolled off already,” retorted Sherlock. Trust him to start ruining his life already. Perhaps that was what they taught at Eton. He’d have to learn more of it sometime.

Mycroft huffed and turned to the nearby staircase – or was it a ladder? – which lead to the upper class compartments. He sighed angrily, and Sherlock smirked. Thank goodness Mycroft had that one flaw he could insult. If he had been skinny and fit too, Sherlock might have gone mad with boredom. As Mycroft began his slow, lurching descent into the dark underdeck, Sherlock scanned the thinning crowds and was pleased to see John coaxing his younger siblings down a similar hatch on the opposite side of the ship. They really, really didn’t want to go… John had to resort to giving them a piggyback ride to get them down the ladder.

“Sir?” Gregory asked. “I think Master Holmes is safely landed.”

Sherlock started and quickly hurried down the ladder, where darkness engulfed him in a salty, dank stench. His eyes adjusted quickly to the doom and he noticed 10 doors set around the small entrance room, assumedly each leading to a compartment. Mycroft was tottering towards the nearest door, and Sherlock followed, not knowing which way to go. It turned out Father was the resident of this particular door, and he instructed Sherlock to go to the opposite side of the entrance room and pick a room. This wall adjoined with the lower class facilities, and so it was unfortunately the youngest who had to bear the burden of such proximity. Mycroft sneered at Sherlock, who stuck his tongue out before running to find his room. He selected a corner – were there portholes? Would he get one? – and peered inside. A small, suspended cot hung glumly on one side, and a writing desk and stool were on the other. No porthole. Sherlock sighed, and went to test out the bed. A thin mattress and blanket were provided, but nothing else. He decided he really didn’t want to see the state of the lower class facilities. The cot bounced and jarred irritably against the wooden wall with each slight sway of the ship, but Sherlock was too caught up in thoughts of hammocks and pirates and exploring to observe it with too much irritation. Well, there wasn’t much to do here at present. He glared at the trunk Gregory must have brought in while he was thinking, and vowed to leave unpacking as late as possible to annoy Mycroft by annoying Father. A creak sounded from above, and the ship suddenly lurched with more force than before – they were off! Sherlock ran excitedly out of his room and scrambled up the ladder, determined to see the most he could of the voyage. The mainsails were unfolding with a beautiful rushing sound, exactly the way Sherlock thought they should. He danced happily towards the prow of the boat, reaching the very front. It was wonderful, the wind rushing through his hair, salt spray barely reaching him, all the world ahead.

 

\---

 

John sighed as they settled into their dusty, damp corner. No compartments or even walls, in the working class area they were all in it together. Not that he wasn’t used to it – he usually shared a bed with Elijah and Maxwell anyway. His mother looked pinned to the wall with Sybill, and Father was helping the other little ones to set up their beds. John thought he’d quietly slip away, up to the deck for a look. He climbed the ladder just as the ship jerked roughly, and he had to cling on for dear life to avoid being thrown off. _Mental note; constant vigilance!,_ John remarked to himself. He safely climbed the rest of the way and peeked out at the sailors pulling ropes around and clambering up to the top of the masts. It didn’t look like quite as much fun as he’d thought, and there were certainly no parrots on the Captain’s shoulder as he steered proudly. John went to the side of the ship and looked down… then looked up. It might take a bit of getting used to seeing that much water, that far down. The docked boats nearby seemed to fly by as the _John Wickliffe_ cut through the water. There was a foamy path left in its wake, the water seeming to have given up on life after being mowed through so effectively. John glanced towards the prow and saw a familiar silhouette, leaning out over the front. His heart began to race and he sprinted towards Sherlock, tugging him back as he reached him, gasping for breath. Sherlock spun around with lightning reflexes, caught off guard. John muttered between gasps, “Sorry… about that… Looked like… Fall.” Sherlock chuckled at that and patted John lightly on the shoulder. “I would never let myself fall! A pirate is completely in control of his destiny.” John laughed despite himself. Sherlock Holmes, a pirate? He had never seen a less likely candidate in his albeit short life. “What are you travelling for, anyway? Why would someone from such an upper class family as your own travel to such an uncivilized place as New Zealand?” Sherlock looked bemused at that.

“Why wouldn’t we?” He asked with an honest glint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Well, it’s said to be a bit… rough.” John muttered, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing.

“Rough? Well, there’s no Eton, but I think we shall get along well anyway. They do need a variety of classes to move, do they not? And my father has an important post there, I forget what. I think I deleted it.”

“Deleted it?”

“My mind is like a palace, and I must keep it well organized. A chaotic and crowded palace is no better than any regular man’s house. Thus the necessity of deleting certain facts and ideas.”

John wasn’t sure if Sherlock was very intelligent or very mad. He concluded that he was very interesting, so it didn’t matter all that much.

“I see. No I don’t. Your mind is a bit like a filing system? And you throw out bits of paper when they’re irrelevant?”

“Quite. You’re learning.” Sherlock grinned unexpectedly and looked out to sea, his blue-green eyes sparkling in the light of the sun. John grinned back and looked out at the marvelous view, ocean spanning in almost all directions now, the land behind barely recognizable. He supposed it was the last time he’d ever look at England. Given that England hadn’t done much for him, he didn’t supposed he cared very much.

“You don’t feel terribly strongly for the motherland, do you?” Sherlock queried.

John started and wondered if his actions had betrayed his waver in loyalty. Having never really mixed with the upper class before, he wasn’t sure how they saw it, or people of the working class either. Sherlock seemed different from other snobs… seemed being the operative word.

“It’s perfectly all right. I must confess I don’t either. I do hope New Zealand is a bit… less boring. Though there won’t be many murders yet, I suppose.”

John looked curiously at his friend. _Friend? Friend??? Don’t let him hear you call that…_

“Murders? You like murder mysteries?”

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled excitedly and his face took on a new life from what John had seen so far.

“Like? I love them, John, you can’t know how much I love them. A good criminal mind, the evidence all pointing to one outcome and one outcome only… The methods of rationality applied can hardly be more beautiful. Let me teach you! I had a friend, Victor, who I used to… teach…” Sherlock faltered slightly.

John thought he should try to regain Sherlock’s enthusiasm for crime; clearly this Victor was a bit of a sore spot.

“I would love to learn, Sherlock! I mean, my lord… sir… master?” John, having never mixed properly with the upper class, wasn’t sure of the proper address.

Sherlock snorted. “Only if I call you ma’am!” He curtseyed meekly. John knew he should get out of Sherlock’s presence before any harm was done to both of their reputations… but try as he might to move his legs, they buckled and he laughed and laughed and laughed. Both boys were nearly in tears as they mentally replayed Sherlock’s wonderful curtsey.

“You should be… an actor,” John gasped when he could breathe.

“No, I should have been a girl,” grinned Sherlock.

John grinned right back. Perhaps this ship wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“What are your lodgings like?” Sherlock asked him curiously.

“A bit crowded, to say the least. I expect if one of us gets sick, the whole room will go.” Now that John came to think of it, this fact was more than slightly alarming. He knew a little about diseases, and a ship wasn’t the best place to have them. Sherlock sighed and shrugged.

“I think the whole ship would go, too, the walls are not terribly thick. Is your cot terribly hard? I say, the mattress provided isn’t exactly supportive.” Sherlock looked at John expectantly.

“Oh, um… I think the floor is quite supportive. That’s where we’re all sleeping. I actually didn’t know they had bedding on board.” John wasn’t quite sure how much of one’s woes and discomforts one ought to reveal to an aristocrat like Sherlock.

“Oh! But that’s shocking. Perhaps you should take my mattress? At least for your siblings, they’re very little… I know I said the cot was hard but it’s not really, I mean, I was just making conversation, and you and your family need bedding more than I do…” Sherlock’s face was bright red. John appreciated him trying to fix it, but…

“You’d start a riot for the mattresses! Sherlo- sir.” Sherlock did not look happy to be addressed as such again.

“I know you have to do that for appearances and such, but when it’s just us… I would prefer that our situations and lives didn’t separate us so. For goodness’ sake, we’re not adults yet and I certainly never intend to be! As for the mattress, well, you’re still welcome to it. Anytime.” John looked curiously at Sherlock.

“I – thank you, Sherlock.” He nodded with approval at John’s use of his name. “What do you mean, you never intend to be an adult?”

“Well, I don’t mean growing up, there’s literally no way to stop that… I just do not intend to take my own little place on the wheel of capitalism and aristocracy and become a politician or such. There’s quite enough stuck up sods out there as it is.” John looked at him amusedly. Sherlock didn’t think he was a stuck up sod? That was a bit rich. But, then, John shouldn’t say anything – but the divide! Sherlock wanted him to be himself. And, especially taking into account his status… he should be himself if Sherlock so commanded.

“You mean to say, you’re not contributing to the population of stuck up sods? Are you sure?” John bit his lip, suddenly unsure. What if teasing wasn’t on the list of what Sherlock thought John was?

Sherlock laughed happily.

John breathed out and stopped attacking his lip.

“Well, I suppose I just can’t help it. You’ll have to help me work on it!” John giggled. He looked out to the ocean again. This was going to be a good few months.

 

\---

 

120 days. That was how long they said it would take. 120 days Sherlock had, with John Watson, on this ship. He smiled happily. That was plenty of time for all the pirate games in the world!

“Excuse me,” a drawling voice cut through his happy thoughts. He could only be upper class, thought Sherlock as he turned to the source. A little older than Sherlock; well groomed ( _very_ well groomed); confident; Irish; and… dangerous. Sherlock recognized the shape of a pocketknife, just faintly visible, by the creases of this young man’s boots. He looked straight at the young, handsome and dangerous man, and was fascinated. He spoke again. “Are you Sherlock Holmes? Your lord brother sent me. We’re to be playmates.” Sarcasm dripped from his every word.

“Ah. Well, tell Mycroft I am utterly delighted to decline.”

“I’m James Moriarty. Jim, if you like. It seems you’ve already found a plaything, though. Still… I’m always here. Just as a backup. Catch you… later.” He grinned, looked very carefully up and down Sherlock, and walked away slowly. He had the same swagger in his gait as the drawl in his voice.

“No you won’t,” muttered Sherlock darkly.

“Do you know him?” John queried, looking bemused. That must be a regular expression for him.

“Well, I do now. Tell me, what did you notice about him?”

“I, um, he was… like you. Some sort of upper class something. Very well presented, though I don’t imagine that will be the same for the whole voyage.” Sherlock laughed and nodded approvingly.

“Well, not quite all of it. I expect he’ll cause us some trouble, he had a lovely little knife tucked away. And, well… Other things. They’re not important.” Sherlock didn’t want to bring that up quite yet. Well, never mind Moriarty for now. He had more important things to focus on, namely his study of John Watson. “Do you want to explore the boat a bit? Come on, I’ll show you my room! Not that it’s really mine yet, it’s just a room with my trunk in. We should try to peek around the storage areas below and such, they would make an excellent hiding place. Father refused to give me a plan of the boat, so I’m not quite sure where everything is. But then again, that was most likely his purpose. Well, perhaps we could make our own plans! What do you say?” Sherlock hoped John would say yes, how he hoped.

“I have one, very small condition,” John grinned.

Sherlock, heart hammering, asked “What?” a bit too desperately.

“You have to help me look after Harry! She’s impossible, and you might actually interest her. Otherwise she just runs away. Please?” John’s big blue eyes sparkled up at Sherlock. He had no choice but to agree.

“If you insist. Now to below deck!” They charged along the side of the boat. Sherlock realized this was a mistake when a particularly large wave – or something – caused the boat to sway alarmingly, resulting in John and Sherlock crashing into the iron handrail. They winced and groaned at their pitiful injuries, Sherlock particularly milking John’s sympathy about knocking his funnybone awfully. However, it was tiresome to go on like this for too long and so they resumed their journery to Sherlock’s room. Cabin? A cabin sounded far better, Sherlock decided. Sherlock’s cabin. John hovered at its door once they had descended the ladder. He looked full of trepidation, as if he could spoil the already dirty room by simply stepping foot in it. It was almost comical. Sherlock wondered how long he would take, and how many encouragements he might have to give. “It’s perfectly alright, John. I invited you inside, John! Come on, I want to explore the rest of the ship! Just step inside, for goodness’ sake.” It was a bit like leading a frightened horse. Finally John took a step inside, looking around the small cabin properly. He stared particularly long and hard at the bed. If you could call it a bed.

“Is that… Just for you?” He queried.

“Well, yes… It’s a bit small to be sharing, and who would I share it with?” Sherlock was confused by this line of conversation. He wasn’t married yet, quite obviously, and the bed was a single, nothing like the lovely double beds they had back home.

“Oh, I don’t know, I usually share with my brothers. I suppose it is a bit small.”

“Well, you’re welcome to share it if you like.” Sherlock immediately regretted this statement. John would feel too awkward to accept or refuse. And awkward was not good. He just couldn’t bear the thought of John being lumped in with all his siblings as if he were just one of so many commoners like him. He was a commoner, but that didn’t mean… It shouldn’t mean that he wasn’t special and unique, and entitled to the luxuries that Sherlock had as an individual.

“I, uh… Thank you, Sherlock. But I don’t think anyone apart from you and I would appreciate that.” John looked grim. Sherlock exulted in the fact that John would appreciate sharing his personal space. A real friend who wasn’t repulsed by him, mentally, emotionally or physically! This was almost too good to be true. Sherlock wondered if this wasn’t one of his very vivid mind palace dreams he sometimes forgot he was in. Perhaps he had simply created John as his ideal companion. Well, better enjoy it while it lasted, anyway.

“That is true, and I am sorry for asking. Put you in a bit of an awkward situation, I suppose. Anyway! Shall we explore the rest of the ship?” Sherlock was trying not to bounce with excitement, and failing miserably. John nodded eagerly. They hurried out of Sherlock’s room, and both paused.

“How do we get down? Sherlock?” John inquired timidly. Sherlock had to admit, this was not something his usually thorough mind had thought about. It had just jumped straight to BOAT and EXPLORING and not bothered about all the boring bits, like how to get there. But now that he thought about it… The sailors had to get there somehow. So where did the sailors sleep and eat? How did they get there? Sherlock led John up the ladder and onto deck, where he settled happily to observe the sailors. Eventually, the shifts changed and Sherlock saw the lookout boy stretch contentedly, scuttle to the door beneath the big platform for steering, and vanish through it. He started triumphantly, grabbed John by the hand, and made for the door.

“And jus’ where are ya goin’, mista?” A burly sailor had stepped in Sherlock’s way. He glowered at them. Sherlock’s mind whirled as he thought of a part he could play. He puffed himself out and tried to look important.

“My father, the Lord Holmes, has requested that I make a thorough inspection of the ship. He doesn’t trust the likes of _you_ to keep the ship going and I must say I thoroughly agree. I am well versed in nautical knowledge and I need to take a look. If you please.” Sherlock said this with all the lordly authority he could muster. The sailor eyed him doubtfully, and Sherlock could see the wheels turning in his head. If he let him down there, the captain could be furious… but then he would also be furious if the sailor was the reason the Lord Holmes (who wasn’t very important actually, but the sailor wasn’t to know) took personal vengeance against the ship’s crew.

“Alright,” he grunted. “But wha’ about this’un?” He motioned at John. John looked taken aback and wholly unprepared to come up with a convincing story. Sherlock sighed.

“He’s my… assistant, of sorts. He’s training early so he’s not quite so incompetent when it actually matters.” John blushed furiously. The sailor grunted again, and led them to the door.

“Jus’ no pokin’ around, mind. Cap’n doesn’t like things bein’ messed with.” Sherlock nodded gravely. The sailor walked towards what was presumably the crew’s quarters. Sherlock propelled John in the other direction. This was going to be fun.


End file.
